


heads up

by iamsolarflare



Series: it's a Fallen London/Minecraft Youtube au [2]
Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar, Hermitcraft
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Tag wranglers stop tagging Hermitcraft as RPF challenge, anyway. this one's just soft., i am once again asking ao3 to remove the irl meat hermit names from these minecraft characters, no real warnings besides one person being an ex-seeker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23831491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamsolarflare/pseuds/iamsolarflare
Summary: in which: an unlikely friend helps out an inexplicable survivor
Relationships: None
Series: it's a Fallen London/Minecraft Youtube au [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1717144
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	heads up

**Author's Note:**

> everyone in this au has Fancy London Names so i'm just gonna. have this little disclaimer at the top of every fic.
> 
> characters appearing/mentioned: Braeden "Doubles" Oleander (BDoubleO100), Rally (Keralis)

There’s a difference between quiets. Rally learns that pretty quickly, rooming with an ex-Seeker, someone with the Knock. Every type of quiet is different. Every subtle shift in airflow, the way things settle, it’s all different even though it’s dead silent.

It’s one thing to come home to still air, quiet and unbroken, and know your friend’s sleeping soundly; another thing entirely to return to a soft and heavy silence that washes over the house in waves, walls drowning out the sound of someone’s quiet sobs.

The latter type is the one Rally opens the door to, today.

He knocks softly on the doorframe to signal his entry, just twice. No response, but a slight shift in the feeling of the place tells him that Braeden knows he’s back. He breathes out, pads softly into the parlor where his friend usually ends up.

And he's there of course, sitting upright with his hands clutching his knees to his chest, head tucked down, weeping.

"Hey," Rally whispers quietly, "hey."

Braeden doesn't look up, though he flinches as Rally reaches out and puts one hand gently on his shoulder. He grits what teeth he has left briefly before relaxing.

It's not the cold touch of death he always expects to fall on his shoulder, after all. It's warm, soft silk, slightly scratchy from wear and tear.

"Can you look at me, Bubbles?" Rally says softly, kneeling down to where Braeden sits. Lowering himself to his own level. He stifles another sob, forces himself to raise his head, feels the remnants of wax in his veins softening.

Braeden looks awful. The scar over the right side of his face is dripping again, leaking some kind of fluid. Could be water, if there's an eye under that mess, but it seems more likely that it's blood or maybe candle wax.

"Why are you here?" the ex-Seeker croaks out, voice low and raspy and so, so tired. "Why do you keep coming back, why not toss me out to the street, why-"

"Shush." Rally shakes his head sternly as he pulls the veil off his eyes with his free hand, moving the one on Braeden's shoulder to try and wipe away some of the tears on his face. "I'm here because we're friends and being there for each other is what friends are for."

Braeden chokes back another loud sob somewhat unsuccessfully. "You're a  _ devil _ , and my soul is worth  _ piss-all _ , Rally-"

"I dunno, Bubbles," the devil purrs, licking his thumb and trying to rub away some of the Weeping Scar, "I think that soul of yours is pretty intewesting, you keep that safe."

It burns. Devil's tears burn, so of course so does their spit. Braeden can't really feel that side of his face, but he knows the wound is closing over, cauterizing at the touch. It'll probably hurt later, but he doesn't really care.

He goes to mutter a half-apology, for being a real burden on the house, not doing much besides just sitting around being scary, not even having the  _ guts _ to Knock at the gates, and Rally just  _ tsks _ at him, tilting his head to the side.

"Hey. Look into my eyes, nothing but my eyes." They're gold-orange, shimmering, cat-like but not, staring right through him. Braeden feels like he's being judged, like someone's weighing his heart on a platter to see how much it's worth-

"You've got nothing to apologize for, Bubbles. Nothing. Can you repeat that for me?"

He shakes his head numbly. Rally sighs, pulling Braeden in for a hug. One of these days, he'd get the man to say that. Not yet, but someday.

"It's all right," he says, ignoring the sting of his own wounds. There'd be time to patch those up later - his focus wasn't on that, right now. "It's okay. You're safe, Bubbles, I promise, nobody's gonna try and getcha, and I won't let any rude well-monsters try and whisk you away again."

Truth be told, Braeden can barely hear what Rally is saying from behind all the layers of mental fog and ringing ears. He recognizes the tone, though, soft muttered something-or-others as the devil holds him loosely, gingerly, like he's worried about breaking something fragile.

He isn't, or maybe just doesn't feel like he's worthy of this. But Rally is warm, so warm that it cuts through the aching chill where his bones should be, heat melting away at the shards of frozen wax left in his gut and his heart and everywhere else.

And Braeden doesn't run from this like he did from the end of himself. He rests his head on his friend's shoulder and he clings to dear life.

**Author's Note:**

> the solution to making bdubs go north was giving him the Knock. i have subverted the nho angst. oh wait doc's still a seeker so nvm i guess
> 
> this is the last finished fic i'm publishing so next time one hits the archives it'll be brand new. it'll prolly also have more non-hermit mcyters in it


End file.
